A Tale of Two Nightingales
by thesassenach
Summary: After a deadly mistake forces her on the run, Freja joins the Thieves Guild to hide from her troubles. But as she falls deeper into their world of shadows, a conspiracy reveals itself, and Freja will discover she's in far more danger than she ever imagined.
1. Prologue: A Stolen Contract

**Prologue: A Stolen Contract**

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><p><em><strong>Hello, friends. Here begins the next adventure. Hope you enjoy!<strong>_

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><p>Freja was exhausted. This, however, was the last leg of the journey to Riften, and she couldn't give up now when she made it so far. She traveled for nearly a fortnight, only stopping to sleep at the random mills and taverns dotting Skyrim in exchange for hard labor or the little gold she could spare. It was late, but her eyes had adjusted to the darkness of her surroundings by now—there was nothing but thick woods, an occasional lake or stream, and a wild beast or two which never proved much of a challenge against her blade. The bitter wind whipped at Freja's face, and she clenched her jaw, tucking away the wisps of blonde hair that had escaped her long braid.<p>

Since her escape at Helgen, Freja drifted from one place to the next, looking for ways to make a profit. She heard a rumor about a group of thieves living beneath the streets of Riften—a group offering gold and protection. Those were two things she needed desperately at the moment. For the most part, Freja had excellent luck, up until a month ago, when she was caught by the Imperials crossing Skyrim's border in an attempt to find her brother. They were separated nearly five years ago, and Freja had been searching for him ever since. She was getting close—hints and clues were beginning to add up, stories coming together—when she was captured with the jewels of a certain Altmer nobleman in her pocket, jewels she'd taken in order to pay her way across the border and beyond. Needless to say, things hadn't ended well. It turned out that he was a high ranking official in the Aldemeri Dominion, and since the Empire was currently eating out of the palm of the Dominion's hand, she faced the block. How she escaped was another tale entirely—but more on that another time.

If she'd only stayed away from that Aretino boy! She shivered, wrapping her bearskin furs around her body more tightly as the wind whipped snow into her face. Freja could see the entrance gate of Riften, and tried her best to distract herself with thoughts of the city—but they still drifted back to Windhelm. _Why did I do it..._

She'd heard rumors of a boy performing the Black Sacrament. It was a dangerous business, calling upon the Dark Brotherhood. From what she'd heard from the townsfolk, he hadn't met with any representative yet, but was desperate. Half of her brain told her it could be an opportunity to earn some gold, while the other half was simply curious about the boy. After all, everyone knew that the Dark Brotherhood was a shadow of its former self, in Skyrim as well as Cyrodiil. What could be the harm? From all that she'd heard, it seemed as though the Black Sacrament no longer worked; it was a silly ritual that fell on deaf ears.

She slipped into his home one afternoon to find him whispering the words of the sacrament as passionately as a prayer to the Nine. Without being able to stop herself, Freja snuck up on him, startled him with a tap on the shoulder and haughtily introduced herself as a murderer for the Dark Brotherhood. What ensued was madness. The boy, Aventus, wanted the mistress of the orphanage in Riften, Grelod the Kind, to be murdered. Apparently, the old woman was anything but kind—an old crone who mistreated the children at every turn. Freja accepted the commission, heading to Riften in the hopes of convincing this Grelod the Kind to retire from the orphanage so no blood had to be shed. She wasn't a murderer—usually. After all, she wasn't And the payment would be well earned either way.

But upon Freja's arrival in Riften for the first time, she found this task of getting Grelod to leave the orphanage difficult. Most of the children were asleep when she arrived, except for one young blonde girl, who was being beaten by the old woman with a broom. Freja was horrified and approached the old hag.

"Grelod, I presume? I have to ask you to stop immediat—" Her voice was light but serious. Before she could finish, the old woman turned on her, pushing the child to the ground as she approached.

"Who in Oblivion's name are you? And what are you doing here at this hour?"

Freja struggled for a story, but she was quick on her feet. "There've…been complaints about the way you run this place. I'm here to ask you to give up your position and retire peacefully." She offered a forced smile, crossing her arms and standing up tall. The little child behind Grelod's eyes widened, and she silently snuck through the nearest doorway. The fear in her face reminded Freja of her own youth. It gave her more reason to complete the task with success.

Grelod's eyes burned with fury. "Did Constance put you up to this? Finally grew a conscience enough to do something about it, eh? Well," Grelod barked, slapping the broomstick into her left hand, "I guess I'll have to give her what I give the children. A proper beating! But first, get out of my damn orphanage before I cut you up! You have three seconds!"

Freja was taken aback by the old woman's behavior, but decided she wouldn't leave until the hagraven gave up. "I'm sorry, Grelod, but I won't leave this place until you hand it over to someone else and resign yourself to a quiet—" Before she could finish, a fire rose in Grelod. A strangled cry escaped her throat, and she lunged at Freja, pulling a dagger from her side. In that moment, Freja resorted to instinct, reaching behind her to grab her Ebony bow and arrows. In one deft movement, she drew the arrow back and allowed it to fly full force into the chest of the old woman. Grelod shot backwards, and the room was silent.

Freja held her breath. Had she really just done it? Had she attacked the woman? _But she was beating the child! Making threats! Coming after me! _Freja thought of excuses, but her guilt was still heavy. She'd always walked a fine line with her actions, but murder was usually never an option.

Shaking herself out of the shock of the moment, Freja stood up straight and fastened her bow to her back. Taking a few steps forward, she looked down at the old woman's body. Her chest was unmoving; no breath entered or exited. She was dead. Blood was beginning to exit the wound. Hearing whispers, Freja looked up to see the girl from before in the room again, staring at Grelod's lifeless figure. Other children had joined her now, hearing the commotion. They huddled together, a look of wonderment crossing all their pale, young faces. Freja felt naked before them.

"Aventus really did it…" A young boy with dark hair said. "He really got the Dark Brotherhood to get rid of Grelod!" Hearing a murmur from a nearby room, Freja detected the soft voice of a young woman, asking the children what the ruckus was about. Freja knew in that moment that she either had to escape, or stand and face what she had done. She considered telling the truth and explaining that Grelod had become violent (it seemed believable enough). But Freja decided against the truth; as much as priests of the Nine Divines urged that living with truth was liberating, Freja found that it brought nothing but grief. Lies were so much more useful—and creative. Turning on her heel, she ran as fast as she could out the front door of Honorhall Orphanage and disappeared into the black of the night.

She left Riften that very night, and planned on never seeing the broken down city again. But then…things grew worse. She decided to spend a few days in the town of Riverwood after arriving from Riften. Freja wanted to lay low, to do some honest work and forget the gruesome scene in Honorhall. While walking along the dirt road in Riverwood, a breathless courier delivered her a note. She unfolded it, almost expecting good news, but her cheeks immediately drained of all color. On it, in black ink, was the imprint of a hand, and below, the words "_we know_." There was no doubt at its meaning. The Dark Brotherhood had caught wind of Freja's little incident, and they were displeased. She had stolen a murder from them, and no doubt they would demand flesh for the flesh she had taken. Freja barely believed it—after all, were the Dark Brotherhood operational in Skyrim? They were all but done across the continent. She greatly underestimated them. _Stupid, stupid Freja, _she thought to herself over and over again.

In that moment, panic washed over her, and she ran to her room in the inn. Freja would never forget how empty and cold she felt as she sat on her bed. Curled into a ball, she let the paper with their message of foreboding fall to the floor. It drifted quickly through the air in one direction, then another, like her thoughts. Would they come after her? Where could she run? Her mind fell back to Riften, and rumors she'd heard of the city. They would never suspect her to hide out in the very place where she'd committed the crime to begin with, at least not after so many weeks had passed—plus, they already knew of her presence in Riverwood, most likely. As far as she'd heard, Grelod's murder was unsolved, and since she was such an unpopular woman, the Jarl was slow to delve deeper into the incident. And there were whispers of a group of thieves living beneath the city…thieves who were all too well acquainted with darkness and shadow…thieves who could perhaps help her disappear from the threat of the Dark Brotherhood. The next morning, before the sun rose, Freja set out.

And all that had led her to this moment—to the gates of Riften. She pulled her hood up around her face to appear more intimidating. Everyone underestimated her, with her white-blonde hair and delicate features.

She approached the guard.

"Halt! Before I let you go in, you must pay a visitor's tax," the man bellowed in an accented voice. His face was round and pockmarked. The beginning of a smile pulled at the corner of Freja's lips, making her twitch delicately with a hint of anger. She hadn't even gotten into the city, and she could see once more the blatant corruption this place was infamous for.

"A visitor's tax?" Freja said smoothly, pulling her hood down to reveal her pretty face to the guard. He smiled devilishly, probably surprised to see such a small and delicate-looking woman. It was sometimes her vulnerability, but it could also be her strength. People let their guard down upon viewing Freja—her pink lips, milky skin and light blonde hair made her seem more like a priestess of Dibella than a thief…and now murderer.

He reached up to brush the hair from her cheek. "Well, aren't you a pretty one..."

Her voice suddenly became hard and darkened, and she grabbed his wrist in the flash of a second. "Touch me again and I'll skin you alive. Believe me…you wouldn't enjoy the feeling. The last one didn't." Her expression was very grave, and the guard pulled his hand quickly away from her.

"I don't want no trouble!" He cried.

"Good, then let me pass without paying. I promise I won't cause trouble in the city, and you can keep your skin as long as you forget you ever saw me." He nodded in compliance, turning aside to let her enter.

_Coward,_ she thought. _Now, to find the man who can help me. Shoulder-length hair, bright green eyes, always calling the ladies 'lass….' What was his name?_ She could hardly remember. But she would find him soon enough.


	2. A Proposition

**A Proposition**

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><p><em><strong>Hello all, welcome to the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!<strong>_

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><p>Brynjolf sat alone at a table in the Bee and Barb—his tavern of choice in Riften. One of the only taverns in this gods-forsaken town. Gripping the frosty mug of mead before him, his knuckles tensed under the calloused skin covering it. He was a strong man of twenty and seven, with shoulder-length auburn hair and a spark always shining in his greenish-gray eyes. But today, that shine was a little less bright. Things were going badly for the guild, so badly. And what could he do? He never believed much in curses, as Delvin seemed to, but something about this didn't seem right. Things only got worse. Mercer was insufferable, and the morale of his brothers and sisters in the shadows was low.<p>

This was the first time in days he'd been able to just sit in the Bee and Barb and enjoy a drink, as every other day he'd been scouring Riften, looking for a new face, a new trinket to steal or a new scam to put in motion. Brynjolf took pleasure in the company of a pretty woman, or in a fine drink, or in the feeling of gold in his pocket. But for some reason, these things were dull and lifeless to him as of late. Riften had turned gray since the fate of the Guild had darkened. And to add to the mood, ever since the old woman was killed inside the orphanage, the town had become different; rumors swirled that the Dark Brotherhood was hired to do away with Grelod (she had many enemies), and the guards were so tense that it was interfering with Brynjolf's occasionally illegal amusements. However, Delvin, with his contacts, connections and friendships in the Dark Brotherhood, assured the Guild that it was not their doing, although they were livid. What was going on? The winds had suddenly changed in Riften, and Brynjolf felt mayhem on the horizon.

Without thought, Brynjolf glanced to the wooden stairs of the Bee and Barb just in time to see a young woman descending them. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her. Her skin was light and clear, all milk and honey to his eyes. Her eyes were piercing, although he couldn't tell the color, as she was halfway across the room. The woman was short with a thin frame, a delicate nose, full lips and long, white-blond hair that fell down her back in waves. He immediately wondered about the curves of her body, as they were well hidden beneath a black cloak. Perhaps she was the Sybil of Dibella, visiting all the way from Markarth? But he'd heard that the new Sybil had been discovered, delivered by some stranger a few months ago, and that she was a very young girl. And if it were she, then where was her envoy? And what business could such a lady possibly have in the filth of Riften? The woman neared, approaching the bar to sit down and drink, he assumed. Brynjolf noticed, as she came closer, the sharpness of her looks and features. She gave off an air of intimidation, as if she was not one to be trifled with—almost like Vex, but colder still. What a contradiction she seemed. So delicate and so hardened all at once.

He continued to daydream, staring at her profile from his seat, until he was startled by her departure from the place altogether. Without thinking, Brynjolf hastily rose and followed her out to the market stalls.

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><p>He watched the shape of her move gracefully through the stalls, and Brynjolf would have been ashamed to realize he was following her with more speed than was necessary. But he didn't notice. He only knew he had to follow her. He had to know where she was going, he had to know who she was because if—<p>

Before he could finish his thought, he noticed that the woman had pulled her hood tightly up over her head and made a sharp right down a narrow passageway. _It wouldn't be wise to follow her. Who knows who she is…_ Brynjolf thought to himself. Although his mind was saying sensible things, his body took the sharp turn after her. She turned her head swiftly around, and upon catching sight of Brynjolf, her speed quickened. Brynjolf followed suit, zig-zagging around the wooden walkways near the water. The sun was bright and reflected on the water, almost blindingly so. Suddenly, she broke out into a full-fledged run. Brynjolf was alarmed—what was going on? His curiosity was peaked now—there was no going back, no matter the implications.

"Wait! Lass, stop!" He called after her, picking up the pace, but she didn't slow. In fact, she began to sprint even more quickly to the left, then down another passage, then down a main street. Brynjolf's chest was heaving. He was fast, but she was faster. Just when Brynjolf was about to give up, he noticed her turn down by the blacksmith's shop—a dead end. She obviously didn't know Riften well. It was his advantage to gain. Speeding down the alley, he closed the distance between the two of them to a few feet. The woman's back was to him, but her hood had fallen away to reveal her long near-white hair tangled and knotted over her arms. By the way her shoulders were moving up and down, she was gasping for air. He had better explain himself. For whatever reason, this woman believed Brynjolf to be a threat. Although he was stupid enough to follow her just because he thought she was fetching, so it was no wonder she got the wrong impression. _Idiot, _he scolded himself.

He raised his hands to her. "Lass, I'm not going to hurt you…" Their eyes met. For a few moments, they just stared at each other.

Freja watched him intently. Upon looking at him more closely, he did resemble the man she was supposed to find, the one who would lead her to the Thieves Guild. But she was too panicked by his following her. After all, what were the chances? The day after she arrives in Riften, a large, muscular man starts tailing her? Rather badly, but tailing her nonetheless. She had to admit, the Dark Brotherhood had to be more skilled than this. But they were dying out in Skyrim, so it was possible that they were this desperate, this concerned with revenge over stolen contracts…

"What…do you…want?" She said in between breaths. "If you're going to kill me, get it over with, would you?" Brynjolf laughed outright, bending over to rest his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"Kill you? I want… to talk…to you… Not kill you." She was a paranoid one, wasn't she? Then again, he did follow her, a complete stranger. Brynjolf sighed, crossing his arms as his breaths became more regular. Once again, he'd managed to get himself into a bizarre situation.

Her eyes narrowed at him. He could tell that she didn't believe him, and as he took a step towards her, her stance changed into a defensive one. Brynjolf stopped in his tracks. "Don't come near me, not another step!" Freja yelled. It was more of a squeak. She'd never had to face off against a Dark Brotherhood assassin, and although she was skilled, he was probably better. To her surprise, he smiled. It was a warm, genuine smile. But then he took another step.

In less than six seconds, Freja had launched herself at him, knocking Brynjolf to the ground flat on his back and lodging her knees onto his elbows so he couldn't budge. With her left hand, she grasped his throat, and with her right hand, she pointed a small, silver dagger directly between his eyes.

"I said not another step. Now, you'll pay for that. Before I carve out your eyeballs, I need to know how I can disappear so that you and your kind never find me again." Her tone was serious, but her voice was shaking. She couldn't be talking about the Thieves' Guild, could she? What could they have done that was so bad as to make her want to hide from them? They were not killers.

Before he could respond, Brynjolf kicked his knees up to her back, shooting her forward over his head onto the stone street. He leapt up and threw his body weight onto her, knocking the dagger out of her grasp as he pinned her wrists to the ground. She thrashed wildly, trying to kick her thin legs from underneath him. Brynjolf shook his head, a look of amusement on his face.

"Whoever you think I am, I'm not. I don't want to kill you," he said more slowly this time.

"Then why did you follow me?" She half-whispered, her eyes wide.

Brynjolf wasn't quite sure how to approach this. His mind had turned to mince. What could he say? They both stood up and brushed themselves off while he thought of which angle to play.

"Because… you're running a little light in the pockets, lass." He said, tapping his forefinger to his chin. She was beautiful, that much was true, but he couldn't help noticing the state of her clothes. The quality of what she wore wasn't much better than what the vagabonds on the street wore each day. It looked as if she once had wealth, but had since run out. He was pleased to notice the look of shock on her face that she was attempting to hide—it told him that he was right. Hopefully this angle would work out and distract her from the facts. He wasn't sure how to explain that he followed her and got in a scuffle with her for no apparent reason.

"I'm sorry, what?" She muttered incredulously, the tone of her voice heightening in surprise.

"Your pockets," Brynjolf said, nodding at her, "they're a little low on coin, I can tell."

Freja shook her head slightly, somewhat impressed and at the same time confused by this burly stranger. Is this why he chased her through the streets? To make an assessment of her wealth? Well, the way the conversation was going, he didn't appear to be a member of the Dark Brotherhood, so she relaxed slightly at that fact. But what was he getting at, what could he want from her? Most men approached her because of her looks, were promptly insulted and even sometimes smacked across the face. But very rarely did they use this type of approach. If he was coming onto her, which they always did, she appreciated the originality of tackling her down in an alleyway.

"How could you possibly know that? And why in the name of Talos did you come after me like that?" She said, a bit more confidence in her voice. Brynjolf heard the change of her tone and took it as an opening. He carefully moved closer to her, circling her as he continued.

"It's all about sizing up your mark, lass," Brynjolf growled in a low tone. He stopped behind her for a moment, leaning his face towards her ear. "The way they walk, what they're wearing. It's a dead giveaway. You look like someone I could do business with. When you ran, I became curious. I apologize for unsettling you."

Freja turned her face toward his own. Anyone passing on the street would think them intimate acquaintances by how close they stood to one another. "My wealth is none of your business," she sneered. Her tone was chilly.

Brynjolf chuckled a little, lifting his fingers to her cheek to brush away some stray strands of hair. Freja flinched away from his touch, a bit surprised by his boldness—but not necessarily offended. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong lass. Wealth is my business." Her ears perked up at this. Could he be one of the thieves she was hoping to find? "Maybe you'd like a taste?" Brynjolf whispered.

Her demeanor changed almost immediately, and she smiled at the proposition, turning fully to face him now. Offering him her hand, Freja gave him a dignified nod of formal greeting. "I'm Freja. What do you have in mind?"

Brynjolf took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Brynjolf. I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from the strongbox under his stand," he pointed at the closest market stall. "Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing. I'll pay handsomely for this."

Freja looked away from him for a moment. That was the name of the man she'd been looking for! _Brynjolf. How did I forget? This is too easy. _"The money's nice, but I don't know…" She said, feigning hesitation. She wanted to be sure of whom she was dealing with.

Brynjolf frowned at her doubt. "Look, I'll make this simple for you," he said softly, dropping his hands to his sides as he stepped closer to her. "The group I represent has its home in the Ratway beneath Riften. I'll be in the market stalls all day, putting on my little show. Complete the task before sundown, then come find me beneath the city and we'll talk about your future. Otherwise, it was a pleasure to meet you, lass." Turning from her, he headed to the other side of the stalls to give a speech about some mystical potion he'd concocted from slaughterfish guts. He hoped she would come to the Ratway. It would be pleasing to discover his embarrassing tackle in the street wasn't in vain.

Freja turned, and when she was totally alone, she smiled widely. So he was a representative for the Thieves Guild, just the people she'd been looking for. Sighing deeply, Freja turned towards Madesi's market stall. This would be child's play.


	3. A Secret

**A Secret**

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><p><em><strong>Hello, readers! I posted not that long ago, but I figured I'd post again to give you guys a little treat. Happy Holidays!<strong>_

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><p>Brynjolf hadn't slept well that night. He just kept imagining that he would be waiting for this woman who would never come. The next afternoon, he found himself daydreaming as he sat across from Vekel at the bar. He spoke with Dirge, trying to convince him of Freja's worth.<p>

"I'm telling you," Brynjolf warned, an edge of annoyance in his voice, "this one is different."

Dirge laughed heartily. "We've all heard that one before, Bryn. What's so special about this one?" His voice was gravelly. Dirge was a young man with dirty blonde hair and a shaggy beard—a reliable thief and a good friend, but never the most clever. He was more useful as a battering ram than anything else. "Quit kidding yourself," he finished.

Vekel nodded, laughing as he dried a mead mug behind the wooden bar. "Yes Brynjolf, let me guess: she's beautiful—sweet with a little bit of spice, for when you roll around on the bearskin." At this, Dirge and Vekel laughed heartily at their friend's expense. But he would not relent.

"Beautiful for sure. But she's more spice than sweet," he remarked, sipping his mead. "In fact, she reminds me of our little Vex, except meaner, and perhaps easier on the eyes, if possible," he said kindly. Vex was like a little sister to him: a little sister that could best him in almost any fight, and out-steal him in any situation. Both men looked at each other again and scoffed.

"You hear that, Vex?" Vekel called to her from across the bar. "Brynjolf said he's met a better version of you at the Bee and Barb. Do you buy it?"

A disembodied voice replied: "It's _not_ possible. Sorry, Bryn. Keep dreaming."

Brynjolf sighed, fearing that his friend might be right, until both Dirge and Vekel turned and stared beyond him, as if they'd seen a ghost. Brynjolf whirled immediately around. It was none other than Freja. She wore the same black cloak, with full black, leather armor hugging tightly to her petite frame. Brynjolf could not help but smile. He'd been able to prove everyone wrong. From the expression on her face, she'd caught a little of the conversation they'd been having just moments before. However, she seemed slightly amused.

"Well, color me impressed, lass! I wasn't certain I'd ever see you again," he chuckled as he stood up off his chair and approached her. Freja stood still, smirking with a warmth in her gaze, as if she was basking in the success of making it to the Ratway.

"Getting here was easy," Freja murmured, examining her cuticles with boredom, feigned or otherwise. Brynjolf shook his head at her haughtiness. It made him burn with annoyance and excitement.

"Reliable and headstrong? You're turning out to be quite the prize," he said, a mischievous look in his eyes. Vekel, Dirge and the others chuckled with pleasure. They'd been proven wrong, and they always enjoyed it. There was old Brynjolf again, chasing after the newest woman in the Ratway. He expected an eye roll from Freja—she was proving to be quite the contemptible fox—but noticed instead that her cheeks reddened with blush. Had he…flattered her? Was it even possible? He put his arm around her shoulders and led her away from the group, eager to fill her in on her new life with the Guild. He shot a look back at Vekel and Dirge, with Dirge giving him a thumbs-up and Vekel making some obscene gesture that Bryn couldn't quite make out.

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><p>They sat down at a table off to the side of the Cistern, and Bryn decided to get right down to business. "So, you made it. Forgive me for my boldness, lass, but I have to ask…although you don't exactly look the part, you seem to have the build and mind for thievery. And you don't seem easily shaken, which is important for this…erm, line of work," Brynjolf continued, leaning back into his wooden chair, taking the view of her in more fully. She sat pristinely in front of him, unmoving. "But I wonder. Why now? Why this place? Surely you could marry some nobleman and live in luxury. How could your fortunes be anything but golden? This is not usually a life people choose. It is a life they are forced to take on, for one sad circumstance or another. Do you understand what you're getting yourself into?" To him, Freja seemed like the epitome of a lady—beautiful and graceful—except she was also vastly smart, incredibly manipulative and seemed to know how to fight like a Companion of Whiterun. She was an enigma.<p>

Freja rolled her eyes, and it made him chuckle. "Everyone assumes that I'm as delicate as some pathetic houseplant," Freja began. Brynjolf listened carefully. "Don't worry, I've got the sad circumstances. But that's only half of it… I'll let you in on a little secret, Mr. Brynjolf," she said delicately, leaning towards him. "I am no houseplant. I live for exhilaration." Freja's cheeks burned. Speaking about matters like this made her feel alive. "And I find it in thieving. I live for the thrill of lifting gold out of someone's pocket without them ever knowing. I was made for this life—not a life of security and routine."

Freja's voice trembled, almost as if with desire, and she paused for a moment. "I have tried to live with as much honor as I can while surviving alone in the wastes of Skyrim. I resent the idea of having to marry to take my 'place' in the world as someone's property. I am better than that," she said in a low tone, and Brynjolf could tell she meant it. His mouth went dry. He'd never seen a woman like her before. But was she really different from all the others he'd met in his life? _Probably not. But possibly better in bed than the last ones, _he thought insensitively.

"But I have to be honest with you, Brynjolf," she said in a low tone. This made his ears perk up.

"I come to the Thieves Guild because I would be an excellent asset, but I am also looking for protection from the Dark Brotherhood."

His eyes widened. So this is why she came to Riften—to hide from a mistake she'd made. Well, she wouldn't be the first to look for the Guild to solve it, or avoid it. For once, Brynjolf saw her fear. Or was she putting on a show to earn his trust and sympathy? Either way, she was good. Too good.

"I must tell you lass, if you were looking for solace from the Dark Brotherhood, you may not have found a better place. But before I say any more, I must know what you did to anger the children of Sithis," he said slowly, with caution.

"I… I did something very stupid," Freja began, looking uneasy for once. Brynjolf noticed the pink color disappearing in her cheeks, even though it was dark in the damp corridors of the Ratway. "I heard rumors of a young boy in Winterhold who committed the Black Sacrament. I was…curious," she began. Brynjolf laughed outright.

"Curious about the Black Sacrament? My, my, you have a certain taste for the macabre, don't you, lass?" he sighed in amusement, shaking his head at her. She nodded, slightly annoyed at his teasing.

"I posed as a member of the Brotherhood. He asked me to kill Grelod, the manager of Honorhall... I took the contract, without telling the boy that I had no intention of killing her. I figured I'd convince her to resign, and the trinket he gave me would be well-earned. But naturally, it was not that easy. She came after me with a knife, and my reaction was...swift."

Brynjolf just stared, waiting for her to finish.

"I put an arrow in her chest." Freja said finally.

Brynjolf nodded, frowning slightly as he took a swig of mead. "Lass," he said, just above a whisper, once he'd finished drinking. "You are one of us now, and no matter what, we will stand and fight for you. Luckily, that may not be a problem." She raised her eyebrows, disbelieving, but she dared not speak yet. "We have strong ties to the Dark Brotherhood, especially through Delvin Mallory, who you'll soon meet. He will get in contact with their sanctuary leader, Astrid, repay them for any money lost, and you will be safe. We have a deal with them; they are not to meddle in our affairs. That means you, now." He nodded towards her, eyeing her face as relief washed over it. Freja offered him a genuine smile.

"Brynjolf, how can I thank you?" she said softly, eyeing him with pleasure.

"Drink with me! Let's celebrate our newest recruit," he laughed.

They drank a few pints (at a certain point Brynjolf lost track), Brynjolf introduced Freja to her new associates, and explained what would be expected now that she was part of the Guild. He told her where she could acquire new armor, which hours were best to pickpocket nobles, who to avoid in the city (namely Maven Black-Briar) and other tips to help her feel at home. By the time they had nearly finished off half a barrel of mead, it was late, and most of the Guild had retired to bed.

"Will you be staying here, lass?" Brynjolf asked. "This can be your home now, if you'll have it. I suggest you take advantage of all that you can."

"I'm afraid not," Freja said softly. "My things are at the Bee and Barb."

"Shall I walk you there?" He asked kindly. Freja laughed—not the reaction he expected.

"That won't be necessary," she replied with a smile. "I'll be fine by myself... I'm sure the Brotherhood doesn't know of my being here yet. And I can handle anything else that comes my way." _Of course,_ Brynjolf thought. _Who am I kidding? She's as fierce as Potema herself._

Later that night, in bed, Freja had some difficulty sleeping. She stared up at the ceiling above her cot, thinking of Brynjolf's face, and the lines of age that began to appear near his eyes. He couldn't be a day over thirty, but Freja imagined the struggles of thieving in a place like Riften did not leave you without many scars. It was tiring for the body and the soul.

Freja blinked a few times, now looking out the window at the moon, which seemed uncommonly bright. There was something warm and alive about Brynjolf that she enjoyed. Still, this wasn't a time for thoughts like that, and she wouldn't be distracted by fleeting attractions. But it didn't mean she wouldn't think of him. His fiery hair, green eyes and able body. She rolled her eyes at own foolishness, but the image of him remained. With that thought alive in her mind, she closed her eyes and finally rested.

* * *

><p>The days passed, and with them, more jobs. One such job required Freja to head to the outskirts of Whiterun to deal with a Nord named Sabjorn, the owner of Honningbrew Meadery. She was to help put him out of business so that Maven Blackbriar could move in for the kill. This was Freja's first big job, and every nerve ending in her body was humming with anticipation. She suited up in the Cistern of the Ragged Flagon and began to pack her belongings when Brynjolf appeared in his Guild armor.<p>

"Do you have a job too, Brynjolf?" Freja asked idly, noticing that most of the GuildGuild wasn't awake yet. He chuckled warmly.

"Oh no, lass. Didn't anyone tell you? We're doing this job together." Brynjolf folded his arms in front of him smugly. Freja rolled her eyes.

"You know, I may be new to the Guild, but I'm not new to thievery. I'd bet I'm better than some here," she said coldly. Brynjolf smiled with amusement, but didn't budge from the spot.

"Well that may be, but I'm still coming with you, lass. In case you didn't notice, I'm an important person in the Guild, and I have a lot to do with the important jobs we get. And this," he said slowly, "is important."

Freja nodded at him, not wanting to argue the point. The bigger the job, the more gold in her pocket. She wouldn't complain.

"Plus," he began, eyeing her up and down, "in a way, I'm your boss. You should be trying to impress me, lass." Brynjolf winked, Freja scoffed at him, and they were on their way.

* * *

><p>The job went off without a hitch once they reached Whiterun (besides the crazed man in the caves who attacked them on sight.) To Brynjolf's pleasure, he and Freja posed as a recently married couple taking a tour of Skyrim, and Sabjorn gave them a tasting. They'd placed rat poison in the mead that one of the Legionnaires tasted, and that was the end of that. Watching Sabjorn being dragged off by the Legion was beautiful—and it meant Maven's happiness and continued loyalty and protection, things the Guild could not live without.<p>

They had not gotten far across the countryside when Freja suddenly stopped. The sun had gone down not long before, and the night was beginning to darken except for the thousands of stars that dotted the sky. She and Brynjolf were heading up the road when a far off, screeching sound made Freja freeze in her tracks.

"What is it, lass?" Brynjolf asked quietly. He'd never seen her so still and focused. Freja didn't answer—her mouth hung open and she looked at the skies, her eyes as wide as the moon. "Freja?" he said again, but she hushed him swiftly. After a moment, she spoke.

"Did you hear that?" Her tone was severe.

"That howl? Yes, lass, but so what? I'm sure it's nothing." He chuckled. "Haven't you hear the rumors about the Companio—" Before Brynjolf could finish, Freja grabbed his arm and started tugging him along with urgency. Her mouth was a thin line of determination.

Pulling away from her slightly, Brynjolf grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her to face him. "What is it?" He whispered, staring into her eyes. The world around them had fallen silent, except for the wind and the various chirping bugs. Off in the distance, Whiterun stood proudly, with orange torch light spilling out over its tall walls. To the left of them sat the mountains, towering and quiet. Brynjolf waited. Another animalistic scream sounded off in the night, and Brynjolf could feel Freja tremble under his grasp. He thought he could make out words, but they were in a language he'd never heard of. She finally met his gaze.

"Okay, I'm not sure I know how to explain—" Glancing up beyond Brynjolf, Freja saw something that made her face go white. "We have to go, now!" She suddenly bellowed, and clutching his hand, Freja began running full force for the mountains, pulling Brynjolf along behind her. He tried to turn his head to see what all the fuss was about, but with Freja violently leading him by the arm, he could only manage to look for a few seconds before she changed direction and made him stumble. Out of nowhere, a loud crash exploded behind him, cracking and bubbling like some alchemical mixture gone wrong. Brynjolf was suddenly very cold, and Freja was obviously picking up the pace. Another blast of something shot right behind Brynjolf's feet, and he and Freja went flying forward, hitting the earth with a dull thud.

Brynjolf pushed himself up just in time to see Freja take a defensive stance in front of him. "Lass, don't stand in front of me like that, let me…." He didn't utter another word. Looking beyond her, a massive, greyish green dragon hovered above the ground, staring them both down. Brynjolf's first instinct was to get up, throw Freja over his shoulder and run for the thick of the forest, but looking at the ground they had just covered, blue ice littered the area. He was frozen with fear—nearly with ice, too. The dragon must have breathed it at them, and they barely made it this far alive. A panic was rising in Brynjolf's chest when suddenly a booming voice spoke out. It seemed to be coming from the dragon, but that was impossible, wasn't it?

"Bolog fah aaz, dovahkiin. Him kos sahlo. Him kos zaam. Koraav rahgol, koraav faaz." Freja cringed, every nerve in her body standing on end. How could this actually be happening now? If they even made it out alive, what would Brynjolf think? She heard the following: _beg for mercy, Dragonborn. You are weak. You are my slave. Feel wrath, feel pain_. She would have to either somehow bluff her way out of this one, or try fighting. Did the dragons even fear the one known as Dragonborn? They didn't seem to. But then again, from all that she'd heard and learned, being the Dragonborn was nothing to scoff at.

Brynjolf took a moment to process the sentences just spoken, but suddenly Freja yelled back at the dragon. Brynjolf's mind went blank. She was insane. Unless…

"Zol mul. Him zofaas, nuz daar zii los dovah." _I am stronger. You are to be feared, but my spirit is dragon._ Brynjolf could've sworn he'd seen the dragon smirk at Freja's apparent words, and it threw its head back, mouth open wide, taking a deep breath. He imagined it was preparing for one final crushing blast of ice. Brynjolf's mind fled to a million different places. He admired how brave Freja was, even if what she was doing made no sense. If he had the chance to live, he would've liked the opportunity to kiss her, because he imagined she'd be quite good at it. Delvin and Vex would take care of the Guild after he was gone. He did wish he'd made enough money to purchase that beautiful little house for his mother in Solitude, though.

A shrill scream erupted through the valley, and Brynjolf squeezed his eyes shut in the anticipation of death. "_Fus ro dah!_"

None came. Instead, Freja screamed dragon words that blasted from her mouth and knocked the creature straight out of the sky. Freja turned to Brynjolf, grabbed his arm and tugged him to his feet in a moment's time. His brain barely had time to react, and he didn't see what became of the dragon, besides the fact that it was thrown through the air.

"Run for the woods—now!" She said, and they were off as fast as they could, before the dragon could properly retaliate.

One thought raced through Brynjolf's mind as he sprinted behind her: _this woman had more secrets than he realized._


	4. A Choice

**A Choice**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Finally, I'm back, guys! Hope you had lovely holidays. This is a relatively short chapter, but it leads up to a rollercoaster ride of crazy events! I didn't want to make it too long, so look out for the next chapter coming soon. -Sass<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You're…what?!" Brynjolf bellowed in Freja's direction. They had run until they were well hidden in the thick brush of the forest, and stopping to rest, Freja had tried to explain what was going on. Apparently, she was Dragonborn. <em>Dovahkiin. <em>Likely story. "I'm sorry lass, but… What?"

She half-sighed, half-gasped as she miserably tried to catch her breath. "It's really not that big of a deal, all right? I don't know how, but since some months ago I have known how to use this voice. I never realized it before, and once I did, I trained for a few weeks with the Greybeards before going on my merry way." She clutched at her own neck angrily, as if she wanted to rip out the part of her throat that gave her those powers. But it wasn't quite that simple.

_Did she really just say it's not that big of a deal?_ Brynjolf thought. But he didn't dare interrupt her.

"I don't know why the dragons have returned. The first time I encountered a dragon…" She paused a moment, before continuing on. "Well, it doesn't matter. What matters is that I didn't choose this and I'm not some oddity to be gaped at or to be taken advantage of. So don't you dare treat me any differently. Because besides being able to cleave your head off with a meat knife from twenty feet away, I can shout you to pieces as well." Folding her arms, Freja leaned back against the tree trunk behind her and stared up at the tall, swaying branches overhead. The heaving in her chest began to slow. Brynjolf almost wanted to laugh at the melodramatic threat she offered, but as he stared at her, he felt…pity. _Not a big deal? She's just been waltzing around, knowing she's the Dragonborn, for months? _This was a strange story, one he never expected to hear. And this was too big a burden for any one person to bear. He approached her and cautiously wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She willingly gave in, breathing deeply into his chest.

"We need to move and you need rest; it's dark. There's an inn only a few miles from here, we'll make it there within the hour. Are you up to the task?" He asked, a look of reassurance in his eyes. She nodded, smiling weakly. _The fact that Brynjolf ignored everything I said is either very good or very bad_, she thought. But she didn't feel like contemplating which.

Brynjolf suddenly realized he knew very little about Freja. He knew she was a fierce warrior and a beautiful woman with a knack for thievery, but he never thought to question how she came to be the woman she was… What caused her to learn to defend herself so ferociously? What turned her to stealing? Who was she before she was the Freja of now? And what of this Dragonborn nonsense?

* * *

><p>They arrived in only half an hour, and Brynjolf paid for the room himself, offering to give Freja the bed while he took the floor. The room was small, with a decently sized bed in the middle, a dresser, a table and two chairs, and a window on the end looking out into the black of the forest. Brynjolf bent down to untie his shoes while Freja looked out the window.<p>

"I apologize if you don't wish to discuss it further lass, but I hope you understand the shock I feel right now. I will admit it was a difficult task processing the idea of you as Dragonborn…" He began, unknotting the ties of his boots. "Not that you being the Dragonborn is a strange idea. You're a very capable woman, lass, and if it wasn't all so wild, it actually would make some sense. I just meant that it's strange to know the Dragonborn at all." He paused for a moment as he sat on the bed, pulling his shoes from his feet and slowly lifting off his shirt. "You hear stories, but you never think you'll meet such a person... You're the one the bards sing songs about. Tougher than most men. And as beautiful as Dibella. Not that the beautiful part is necessary for being the Dragonborn…but…" Realizing he was rambling like a fool, Brynjolf stood and turned to look at her. His embarrassment burned when he realized that she was undressing too, and was in nothing but her undergarments. Turning to his left quickly, he blew out the candle that stood on the nightstand and faced away from her again. In the darkness, he heard a small laugh.

"Brynjolf, it's fine, really. I'm all done, and I'm getting into bed now." She said softly. He turned back around, sighing deeply. Freja had crawled into bed, the moon casting itself in shards across the blankets over her legs. Her very long legs. Smooth as butter.

"Right," he said quietly. "Me too." Lying down on the ground, Brynjolf struggled to relax in the makeshift bed he assembled on the floor. There was no comfortable position to be found, but even if there had been—he couldn't stop thinking about what he'd seen. Her body. And her shouting that dragon out of the air. So slender and strong, bathed in moonlight. And so dangerous, too. How many had she shared that secret with before Brynjolf? She'd hardly mentioned it again since they arrived at the inn. His mind jumped. He kept darting back and forth between the idea of her Dragonborn soul, and the image of her body, etched forever into his memory.

Either thought was thoughts were interrupted by a whisper. "Brynjolf?"It was so quiet, he thought his own mind made it up. However, the second time, Brynjolf realized someone was calling out to him.

"Brynjolf? Are you asleep?" Freja asked.

"No. What's wrong, lass?"

"Come to bed," Freja whispered. "Lie down with me." Sighing in surprise mixed with confusion, Brynjolf slowly shifted and got up, standing next to Freja's bed.

"What's wrong?" He asked, trying to pretend as if he wasn't interested in sharing her bed. As if he might say no.

She stared at him in the darkness, an intense gleam in her eyes. She looked exhausted and troubled. "With everything that happened tonight….. I can't stop thinking. I just—" Before she could finish, Brynjolf pulled the sheets away and shushed her softly. Crawling into bed, Brynjolf pressed his chest against her back, so that they fit together like pieces of a puzzle. He wrapped his arms around her small frame and Freja grasped his arms, holding them tightly to her.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I just need a friend." Brynjolf felt warm. _So she was capable of being kind. Even if he didn't just want to be called friend._

"And if you go off bragging to anyone about this," Freja continued, "I'll cut your balls off and hang them as a trophy." _Nevermind to the being kind thing. _

He chuckled at that, squeezing her shoulder in compliance. Their closeness was intimate, and although Brynjolf could hear her breathing slow and become more even, he never felt more awake. More alive. It seemed like hours before his eyes became drowsy. He enjoyed the moments when he could feel her breath on his chest—when she curled up to face him, pressing her head beneath his chin. He tried not to put his hands on her, and instead focused on the sound of her breathing, until he, too, drifted off.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Brynjolf rolled over to place an arm over Freja—but she was gone. Coming out of his groggy sleep, he noticed that she was standing by the window, suited up in her leather armor. Her white-blonde hair hung in braid down her spine, and she stood unmoving.<p>

"Good morning lass," Brynjolf murmured, sitting up.

"Morning, Brynjolf," she replied flatly. "We should get going as soon as we can."

Brynjolf sat silent for a few moments, wondering at her. She seemed…different. Closed off. Cold. Her demeanor had changed in the course of a night's rest.

"Forgive me, lass, but did I overstep my bounds by sharing the bed with you last night?" Brynjolf asked bravely, pulling his shirt over his head. His body was thick and strong, and riddled with scars from jobs gone wrong, scuffles with burglary victims as well as cuckold husbands. Freja didn't dare look at him. "Because as I recall, you asked me to." Freja sighed softly. She didn't want to be distracted by him when she was trying to figure out how to proceed. After what Brynjolf saw of her Dragonborn abilities the night before, she knew she would have to be on her guard. She trusted Brynjolf more than most…but trust always had a limit. It had to, for the purpose of safety. And this was too big to trust with any one person. It had taken her a night's sleep to regain her senses.

Freja shook her head in the negative, but she didn't make a sound. Sighing, Brynjolf walked around the bed towards her and put his hands on either side of her face. She didn't resist. Her pale eyes seemed empty.

"What is that matter, lass?"

Freja avoided his gaze, even though he held her face in place, mere inches from his. "I don't like feeling vulnerable." Her tone was low and quiet.

"Oh, is that all?" He said with a chuckle. "You don't trust me with your secrets," Brynjolf retorted, an air of amusement in his voice. It didn't offend him, but he wanted to understand. He felt as if he'd finally broken through to the true part of her, but as soon as she'd let down her guard, she forced it back up again, becoming the untouchable ice queen he'd first met. He knew she trusted him, looked to him as a guide and a mentor these last weeks. As far as he understood, Brynjolf was the closest thing Freja had to family or friendship. He ran his thumb along the line of her chin.

"All I have are my secrets." Freja said softly, finally meeting his eye. To her surprise, Brynjolf chuckled again, irritating her slightly. "I showed you the darkest part of myself and I regret it," she continued hastily, pulling away from him so that he was no longer touching her face. "The sum of my experiences has taught me that I must rely on myself alone—especially when there are things about me that no one should know. I'm sorry I was in a fragile state last night, but I promise you it won't happen again." She sighed. "If there is one thing I've learned, it's that the quickest way to disappointment is to rely on others. And now you know the one thing about me that I've been trying to hide for months. The one thing that Skyrim would exploit me for…my voice." Freja faced the window. She didn't want to look at him anymore.

"The darkest part? Lass, you've shown me one of the greatest parts of yourself—it's no curse. The sum of your experiences has been vastly different from mine, I suppose," Brynjolf said, crossing his arms as he faced the window, too. "I have learned that what matters most is family, lass. I don't mean blood," he said before pausing for a moment, reflecting on some unspoken memory. "Blood can often be the most disappointing. I mean the type of family you earn, lass. No, we are not friends. Because you have chosen the Guild as your family, which is something much more than that."

He turned his eyes on her, gazing intently as he continued. "You sought us out—sought me out. So I am your family now. And you can trust me with your life, your secrets, your every fiber and word and pain and pleasure. Those things that make up the whole of you and what you are to become, you can entrust it all to me. I suppose your aversion to intimacy comes from the fact that you've never been presented with a bond so deep as what the Guild can offer. But that will change, if you allow it to be so."

"An aversion to intimacy?!" She exclaimed as she turned in his direction, offended. "I—"

He shook his head. "I don't mean _that_ type of intimacy, lass," he said with a grin on his face. "I mean sharing something with another living soul, for Mara's sake. Unabashedly and without fear."

A silence stretched between them. Freja didn't budge. "Let me even the playing field then, lass, since you don't seem quite convinced. I am an orphan, found on the steps of Honorhall at the age of seven, the same place where you liberated so many children from that hagraven of a manager. My mother had not one ounce of love for me in her body—or so I'm told. Had me out of wedlock and abandoned me in Rorikstead as a baby. I lived as a little vagabond child there until I was shipped to Honorhall. The Guild saw potential in me at a young age—I could pickpocket anyone—and took me in. The only man I ever knew as a father, a man named Gallus, was brutally murdered by the only woman I'd known as mother. And then she disappeared." He paused, thinking back on those days. "There, now you know every sad detail. I may not have a voice to shake the whole of Tamriel, but this is who I am."

More silence.

"And the Guild has always stood by me. No matter the married maidens I've taken to bed, the brawls I've caused or the deception I've reveled in, the Guild has stood by me. It hasn't eliminated my pain, but it's helped me push it into deep places—places I don't venture to anymore. You think you're the only one who's ever felt this? The Guild shows you a different way, lass. It will never leave, never disappear. And that is the lesson you must learn if you want to truly accomplish anything. You must place your trust in the Guild." With that, Brynjolf grabbed the rest of his gear and headed downstairs. If she followed, he would know what she thought. If not, then this was the end of their partnership.


	5. A Job

**A Job**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hello, friends. I'm sorry it's been so long! It's been a hectic few weeks, but I hope to be more attentive. Also, for those of you who read The Dragon Among the Wolves, know that I haven't forgotten you and hope to have the final installment up this weekend! -Sass<strong>_

* * *

><p>Brynjolf had risen early to see Freja. It had been a few weeks since the incident near Whiterun, and ever since that day, she had proven a great asset to the Guild. After their discussion that night, Brynjolf noticed a marked change in her. She was lighter, and more open. There was less artificiality and darkness in her demeanor, and when she laughed, it was hearty and true. Brynjolf admired the change in Freja, and they had grown close. Brynjolf was glad to have someone else to call friend in the Guild, while Freja was just pleased to finally trust for once. He had sworn never to speak of her…gift again, unless she spoke of it first.<p>

Mercer wanted to meet her, and as cranky as he had been lately, Brynjolf didn't want to make him wait. Plus, he had a big job for the both of them, and Brynjolf wanted to get it started. Heading over to the Bee and Barb, he walked up the stairs quickly, trying to avoid the gaze of Keerava, the keeper of the inn. He'd swindled her last week out of two cases of Firebrand Whiskey, and she told him that she'd have him thrown out if she ever saw him again. He'd have to find a way to make it up to her.

Knocking on Freja's door, he waited. There wasn't a sound from inside. _What's she doing in there? Sleeping still?_ His fingers itched, and he knew he couldn't stop himself. Pulling a lockpick from his pocket, Brynjolf swiftly and effortlessly unlocked her door the old-fashioned way. Pushing the door open, he glanced inside the tiny room.

The bed was just under the window across the room, and Freja was still sleeping peacefully. Her back was to Brynjolf. There was a small, wooden chair near the door he had just entered through, and he decided to sit and admire her for a few more minutes before they had to go; he would take such pleasure in surprising her when she woke. Suddenly, however, it was he who was startled by the sound of her cool, clear voice.

"So, how long did you plan on sitting there, watching me and feeling pleased with yourself for breaking in?" She asked, giggling softly, her voice heavy with sleep. Brynjolf's eyes widened. "A child could've picked that lock."

"How long were you awake?" He questioned, embarrassment in his voice. She sighed with contentment, rolling over to face him, her hair a mess. Her hand sat firmly on her chest to hold the thin blanket up around her. Upon closer inspection, Brynjolf's eyes widened. Was she...naked?

"I've been awake for half an hour. I'm a slow mover," Freja murmured, sitting up. "I would've gotten up earlier if I knew to expect company."

Brynjolf rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that often gave him away as feeling sheepish. He looked back down at the floor again. "Ah, I'm sorry lass. I just couldn't resist. Locked doors are too tempting for me. Plus, you've got to meet Mercer today. He has a job for the both of us, and I didn't want to take too long getting to him." Freja nodded, half-listening. She ran her hand through her hair.

"Right, right. Well, I don't mind. I'll just ready myself," she said with a yawn. Brynjolf nodded curtly and began to stand up when Freja stood too, dropping the sheet and revealing herself. Brynjolf's eyes widened eagerly. _Oh yes, she was naked. _Freja barely seemed to notice as she quickly walked over to the chest of drawers, only stopping when she saw his stunned expression. Freja scoffed at him as tried not to stare at the curve of her rump and the whiteness of her skin.

"What?" She said with annoyance.

"Are you trying to give me heart attack, woman? It's ten in the morning, for the Nine's sake." He turned immediately on his heel, facing the nearest wall. She continued talking at Bryn, but he almost didn't hear. He ground his teeth at the thought of touching her. _Calm yourself, laddie. Get it together. She's doing this on purpose to torture you. _Freja never stopped trying to vex him, or make him feel foolish.

"On warm nights I prefer to sleep in the nude, if you must know. Either I can stop doing that or you can start knocking," she teased. He could hear her delving around in her drawers. "You should try it sometime." Pausing, she laughed again. "Judging by how shocked you are, you're either a man of more propriety than I thought, or you've slept with less women than you say. I'm done, you can turn around now."

He did, and thankfully saw her clothed in full, tight, black leather armor. Freja's hair was wrestled into a braid that hung long down her chest, and she looked more like herself. In a few moments, they were off. Brynjolf was glad; he needed some fresh air.

* * *

><p>As they entered the Cistern side by side, Freja took in a big gulp of air. She was nervous; so far, she hadn't liked what she'd heard of Mercer Frey. With Brynjolf by her side, she felt more at ease. Now there was a man she could get used to having around. His friendship had become invaluable to her these last weeks.<p>

As they approached, she caught sight of Mercer, and her fear was dispelled slightly. He wasn't a very imposing man. His hair had begun greying, and his face seemed weathered in a constant frown. It made Freja want to smile. He seemed like an exaggerated picture of a man who was frequently unpleasant.

"Mercer, this is the one I was telling you about," Brynjolf said brightly, crossing his arms and nodding towards Freja. "Our newest recruit, though she's done great work for us the last month or so."

Mercer leaned against the desk in front of him with his wiry arms spread wide apart, but he didn't give her his attention yet. For a moment, Freja wondered if he'd even heard Brynjolf in the first place. _Arrogant pig, _Freja thought. After a minute, he looked up. Freja bit back a cheeky introduction; something about this man told her to play it cool. Instead, she held out her hand to shake with his. She should have known he'd ignore that, too. Mercer stared at the gesture, and then spoke. Freja let her hand drop stupidly to her side.

"This better not be another waste of the Guild's resources, Brynjolf." His voice cut through the thick air of the Cistern like a knife. He stood up fully now, and Freja noticed that he was not tall, either. Neither thick nor tall, and yet somehow still able to inspire fear in others. What was it about him? Perhaps something in his sharp, tenored voice.

"Before we continue I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Play by the rules, and you walk away rich," he said, his eyes flashing as he looked Freja up and down. This Mercer made her skin crawl, and she wanted the conversation to be done immediately. Still, she waited.

"Break the rules, and you lose your share. No debates, no discussions. Do I make myself clear?" He spit the last sentence through gritted teeth, instead of speaking like a normal human. Freja was irritated, and it surprised her. Most people didn't get under her skin so easily. Could Mercer sense the disobedience brewing in her chest? She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes," Freja offered, as smoothly as ice, "I understand." She met Mercer's eyes and did not relent. It made him smile, but the smile was cold, colder and emptier than the frown he had offered minutes before.

"Good, then I think it's time we put your expertise to the test." He said, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Wait a minute," Brynjolf said with a note of hesitation in his voice. "We're not talking about Goldenglow, are we? Even our little Vex couldn't get in," he said softly. Mercer was crazy to even suggest this job for Freja. She had barely done anything for the Guild yet. Brynjolf believed in her abilities, but to send her to Goldenglow? It was too risky. He expected a numbers job for their next outing together, or even a small scale robbery. The new recruits usually began slowly. But Goldenglow?

"You claim this recruit has an aptitude for our line of work. So, let her prove it." Mercer said softly.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying—" Brynjolf cut in angrily, but Mercer kept going.

"You don't want to continue with that line of thought, Bryn. Remember who is in charge here." His eyes flashed with rage, but in a moment, the look was gone, and he continued. "Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients," Mercer said in a matter-of-fact tone. "However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Brynjolf can provide you the rest of the details, as he'll be accompanying you." Mercer looked up at Brynjolf and Freja, and the hardness of his gaze signaled that the conversation was over. Brynjolf was ready to argue the subject of Freja's preparation further, but he decided against it. After all, they would be together.

"Mercer, aren't you forgetting something?" Brynjolf said quickly. Freja glanced over at him with curiosity, wondering what else there was to discuss. She looked from his greenish eyes to the straight line of his nose, his lips, chin, and wide chest. He looked as strong as an ox, standing well over six feet tall, with that shaggy mane of red, Nordic hair. He was quick as a shot and a smooth talker, to boot. How was Mercer the guildmaster over him? Quickly, she snapped back to attention at the sound of Mercer's nasally drawl.

"Brynjolf assures me that you'll be nothing but a benefit to us. Welcome." Freja noted the immense effort it took Mercer to say those words. In the future, she would remember to avoid him. Brynjolf quickly put his hand on the small of her back and led her away from Mercer. She leaned her head up towards him intimately and whispered, "He's incredibly unfriendly, and that is an understatement."

Brynjolf smiled wickedly at her observation, nodded, and brought her towards the wooden ladder that led up to the false tomb. "Let's go for a walk," he offered innocently. "We have much to discuss."

By the time they had gotten down to the discussion of the actual job, they were outside the city walls and standing on the edge of the lake that surrounded Riften. After a moment, Brynjolf took Freja's arm and turned her in the direction of a tiny island in the middle of the lake. What stood there was difficult to discern. Pointing, he explained. "Goldenglow is a bee farm; they raise the wretched little things for money. We need to teach the owner, Aringoth, a lesson by burning down three of the estates hives and clearing out the safe in the main house. I've helped plan this job, but I didn't know for sure whether I was going with you. Until now, that is. I'm glad I can be of assistance, lass."

"What's the catch?" She questioned with sincere interest; it didn't sound terribly difficult.

"The catch?" Brynjolf chuckled. How was she always so smart? "We can't burn the whole place to the ground. That important client Mercer mentioned would be furious if we did."

"What's so important about this client?" She questioned. There was still so much she didn't understand.

Brynjolf smiled warmly at her inquisitiveness. "The Guild depends on an arrangement of influential people to keep things running smoothly. Without them at our backs, we'd have serious trouble. But enough about that, lass. Go back to the Bee and Barb, get some food in your belly, and prepare to meet me back here at nine tonight. We're going for a swim." Bowing slightly, Brynjolf winked. "Until tonight, lass." Freja nodded at him curtly and turned back in the direction of Goldenglow, gazing out at her newest adventure. She was ready for some excitement.

* * *

><p>Brynjolf had only waited for Freja an extra ten minutes past nine. Freja was so jittery that Brynjolf wondered if maybe all the stories she'd told about her thieving past were fake. But, as they descended into the water towards Goldenglow, she proved herself as great a thief as any that had made a name for themselves within the Guild. Her moves were smart and her stealth was unmatched. They slipped in through a sewer, knocking out the bandits that had taken up residence or the guards that were patrolling. For having to take out five or six men, she'd held her own remarkably well. Each time, she used stealth to her advantage, utilizing the shadows to take down men twice her size and strength.<p>

She'd easily broken into Aringoth's safe that was located in the basement of the house, taking all its contents and carefully putting them in a tightly-latched purse, which she then put in a satchel. Waterproof, he imagined. She was nothing if not creative. Freja stopped to examine a letter, and it gave her pause.

"Brynjolf," she said quietly, "take a look at this." Freja handed him a white, tidy piece of paper which outlined an apparent Bill of Sale. Brynjolf stopped breathing for a moment… The selling of Goldenglow Estate? Under Maven's nose? Impossible. Turning the page over hastily, he was frustrated but not surprised to find a lack of any sort of signature. Reading it over again quickly, the only name of interest he picked out was that of Gajul-Ei—the alias of one Argonian, Gulum-Ei. But before he could think on the matter further, Freja snatched the paper from his hands, folded it and put it away.

"Hey, wait a second, lass!" Brynjolf snapped in a whisper. "Why—"

Freja grabbed his hand, and with her own free one, cupped his mouth. "Are you suddenly deaf, or do you not hear the watchmen coming?" She whispered severely. "We need to get out of here and burn those bee hives—fast."

This would be the hard part. Still holding his hand, Freja pulled Brynolf along in a frenzied game of cat-and-mouse, narrowly avoiding the hired thugs in one hallway, only to nearly step on them when heading down another. As they crept up to the main floor, Freja suddenly pushed Brynjolf to the right, causing him to stumble and nearly fall.

"Lass, for the love of—" He began to whisper harshly, but then she smiled widely.

"You almost hit that trip wire, there." She pointed. Brynjolf was amazed—in the dim light of the house, he could hardly see where she was pointing. It was amazing she even noticed. "It would have caused a lot of ruckus and at least ten marauders would have come running for us. You're welcome."

He laughed at her haughtiness. "Well, thank you lass. How did you even see that?"

Freja rolled her eyes. "I've never tripped a wire, snagged myself in a trap or fell for a rigged treasure chest in all my years. I'm too good, Bryn. You should know that by now." He scoffed quietly at her, before continuing on, with her behind him.

After fifteen minutes, the two of them managed to slip out the front door of the house into the darkness of the night. Of all doors, it was amusing that the most important door was the one least guarded. A sense of relief washed over the both of them, but the relief was short-lived; tension was mounting with anticipation of the next leg of their mission, and they had to light the hives before they were seen. Once they did, their escape would have to be quick. The two of them fell away into the shadows, heading off towards their final destination.

They rounded on the bee hives, which stood atop a high cliff on the edge of the island. The cliff facing Riften was surrounded by tall, wooden fencing, and the hives themselves stood in a long, curved row only a few feet from the fence. Brynjolf stopped at the hives on the left, signaling to Freja to burn the three on the end. She nodded, he stood back, and lit a match for each. Then, taking a deep breath, she threw each one; the hives lit up like fireworks, one after the other.

Brynjolf waited to see if they would catch completely, as they needed to. "Excellent lass. Now, we don't have much time..." He said. Waiting for her to say something, Brynjolf turned, suddenly realizing that Freja was gone. Turning around, he felt panic wash over him. Had she run off already? Or had someone snagged her? Brynjolf turned on his heel to run, his eyes looking wildly in every direction. The fires were growing bigger, casting all sorts of shadows every way he looked, distorting his vision to the point that it was difficult to see at all. They had minutes before the thugs arrived, and he didn't have time to contemplate all the possibilities of where she had gone amidst all the fire and smoke.

Doing a job with two people always made Brynjolf feel so vulnerable, and he cursed himself for agreeing to it with Mercer beforehand, when Freja hastily emerged from the shadows, putting her dagger back in its sheath. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Freja pressed herself against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. Bryn was completely dumbfounded.

"Lass, I don't think now is the time…"

"They're going to be surrounding us on all sides—except one," Freja whispered delicately, a smug smile on her rosy lips. All Brynjolf could do was nod, even though he didn't understand her meaning. That affirmation seemed to be what she needed, however, and she delicately led his hands around her small waist before wrapping her arms back around his neck.

"On the count of three, pick me up, hold on tight, and right straight into the wood fencing," she whispered, turning her head to motion towards the dark fencing that stood eight feet behind them, separating the edge of the island from the lake below. Brynjolf blinked in disbelief.

"You want me to run straight into the fence?"

"Yes!"

"Holding you in front of me like a human shield?" He whispered again, emotionless. Freja nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, directly behind me! See, I—" She started to explain, when their conversation was halted by the sound of angry voices closing in. Her eyes pleaded with him. "No time, just do it!"

Brynjolf shook his head in disbelief. He trusted the stubborn lass. Lowering his head into Freja's shoulder, he tightened his grip on her waist, lifted her slightly off of the ground, and began charging full force into the fence. She burrowed her head into his chest, holding on for dear life. At impact, he imagined they would go bouncing back like idiots towards the burning hives.

Yet instead, under their weight, the fencing splintered and broke away. Suddenly he and Freja were tumbling through the air, until they collided with the cool, shocking water of the lake.

After a few moments, both came up for air. Treading water, they locked eyes, laughing hysterically. "We've done it!" Freja said excitedly. But the celebration was short lived as they heard more angry voices floating from the island. Nodding at each other, they began swimming for dear life. The night was still young.


	6. A Misunderstanding

**A Misunderstanding**

* * *

><p><em>Enjoy the next chapter, friends! -Sass<em>

* * *

><p>As soon as they were underneath the surface one again, Freja and Brynjolf began swimming madly for the northwest shore off the water—the part that was most secluded. Coming up for air again, they stopped to catch their breath and turned back around to admire the damage they had done as they treaded. The hives were ablaze by now, and they had swum far enough to just make out the sounds of the angry marauders who would find nothing but a section of broken fence and some very angry bees. Turning in the water towards each other, Brynjolf and Freja smiled again. After a moment's rest, they continued on to the shore they were headed for.<p>

In twenty minutes' time, they had arrived on the beach, which was covered in pine trees. They littered the ground with needles, making it soft, and Brynjolf and Freja both collapsed happily onto it. With the warm sand and fresh pine needles on their backs, they chuckled heartily, fighting to catch their breaths.

"I could've sworn...Mercer was trying...to sabotage us somehow..." Brynjolf managed between breaths, looking over at Freja."But I guess he knew...we could do it together. He believed in us, and I didn't."

Freja rolled her eyes. "I suppose you could see it that way..." After a few moments, she began stripping off her armor, piece by piece. She kept her boots and greaves, but tossed her soaked cuirass in the water, along with her gauntlets. On top, she wore a thin, sleeveless shirt, and she stretched her arms above her head, feeling less weighed down. Brynjolf stared at her in mild confusion.

"What in nirn are you doing?" He questioned as she wrung out her long hair, pulling it from its braid. The wetness made it heavier and fall loosely around her shoulders. Freja smiled down at Brynjolf as he lay, staring up at the stars that dotted the midnight sky with his hands folded behind his head.

"It's time I received my official armor from Tonilia. I'm bored of that junk," she said coolly. "Less to carry."

They both went silent for a few moments, with Freja crossing her arms and staring out across the lake in a serious manner, and Brynjolf enjoying the beauty of the stars. They were actually quite pretty. Brynjolf sat up quickly.

"Well, lass, I suppose it's time." He said, beginning to stand up. Freja turned towards him, shaking her head.

"We can't stay just a few more moments?" Walking over towards him, she sat down in the sand near him and smiled. "We deserve just a minute more of peace."

He nodded. "I won't say no to you, not when we've just pulled of one of the biggest jobs around. It was brilliant what you did at the end, cutting the fence. You thought of that so quickly just for our escape?"

Freja chuckled, nodding. "The confusion on your face when I explained was so amusing. As soon as the hives caught, I went to the fence and started shoving my dagger in it. I don't think we would have made it out easily another way with all the security." She was so proud. It was a pretty brilliant idea, he had to admit.

"I do agree, lass," he said gently, turning his head towards her. The moon was bright enough to cast a dim, white light in her eyes and make her skin glow. Freja stared back at him patiently.

He cleared his throat anxiously. She looked...like she was waiting for something. _Waiting for him?_ "Freja..." Brynjolf finally said, staring at the sandy ground.

"Hm?" Freja said softly, still looking at him.

"I think..." He paused, stumbling over his words. "Forgive me if I'm wrong lass, but I have to say something."

"Okay..." She muttered quietly.

"You and I, these past weeks and months, have become...close. But..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I-I... I hope... Um..."

Freja rolled her eyes finally. "Would you just kiss me already?"

After a beat, both she and Bryn started laughing wildly at the bluntness of her statement and the bumbling of his words. But as their laughter died away, they were back in the same spot as before, the moment filled with confused longing and hopeful desire. As they stared into each other's eyes, Brynjolf took a deep breath, strengthening his resolve. Leaning towards her, he carefully ran his fingers down her cheek and neck.

"As you wish, lass." Brynjolf tilted his head slightly towards her, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, and their lips touched with the lightness of a feather. Brynjolf turned towards her, grabbing her shoulder as he felt her lips parting in passion.

Their tongues danced, and Freja quickly threw her leg over Brynjolf's waist, maneuvering herself so that her hips were sitting on top of his groin, straddling him. The weight of her made him tense up wildly, and he pulled away from the kiss, a look of surprise on his face. Freja sat up straight on top of him, laughing heartily as she tossed her blonde hair out of her face and down her back.

"I'm sorry, too much for you?" Freja teased, wiggling her hips into his pelvis. He inhaled sharply at the feeling of her so suddenly pressed against him, and sat up towards her so that they were facing each other, her legs straddled apart against his waist. A smirk blossomed on his lips.

"You are trouble, aren't you, lass," Brynjolf said in a low growl. Delicately, he twined the fingers of his left hand into her white-blonde hair, pulling the strands back to open up her neck to unguarded attack. Unhurriedly, Brynjolf planted kisses there, going lower each time he heard her sigh in approval. Resting his right hand on her arm, he suddenly stopped, feeling a warm, sticky substance coating the area just below her shoulder.

"Freja…you're bleeding," he said seriously, the intimacy of the moment fading away. It seemed to be a decent amount of blood. She laughed with amusement, shaking her head at herself.

"Am I?" She asked. Freja spoke with small concern. "I was trying to ignore it."

Brynjolf scoffed at the nonchalance, amazed. Standing up, he scooped her into his arms gingerly. Maybe that dreaminess in her tone was a result of the blood loss.

"Well, why didn't you say something, lass? We should have left ten minutes ago," Brynjolf chided. She shrugged her shoulders simply, latching her arms around his neck.

"Well," she said quietly, "I was having a good time." Their eyes met, and they shared a private smile. He rolled his eyes at her foolishness, but beneath that, he was deeply pleased.

* * *

><p>Back at the Ratway, Brynjolf tended to Freja's arm. He sat her on the bar and grabbed a dark-colored bottle from behind and a white cloth. The Ratway was deserted—it must have been later than Brynjolf anticipated.<p>

"What is—" Freja began to question the contents of the bottle when Brynjolf dabbed some of it on her wound with the cloth, and she groaned.

"Argh!" She said angrily. "What is that!?"

"I'm cleaning your wound with alcohol. Rum, to be precise." Pressing the white cloth to the wound, he slowly dabbed away the blood until just the wound itself was visible. Freja took a long, hard swig of the rum.

"If I'm to properly dress your wound, lass, you're going to have to take off your shirt," he said, his voice cracking halfway through the phrase. Freja smiled.

"You want me bare that badly, do you?" She quipped. Brynjolf smiled anxiously, shaking his head. He had never felt such a bond with a woman he wanted to bed, and it made him anxious, as if he cared about what Freja thought. Most of the women he bedded, he barely remembered their name.

"Lass, if I wanted you bare for my own purposes, I would have used a more romantic method than that," he said softly. There, that was the Brynjolf he was familiar with. Smooth. Why was he nervous?

"What method would that be?" She whispered, her eyes narrowing at him as she leaned towards him.

"Well, let's see…" Brynjolf was tingling all over. _For Nocturnal's sake, get it together! _He thought. Slowly, he slid his fingers under the material of Freja's shirt. At the same time, he lowered his lips to her collarbone, kissing along its line. When he felt her body relax, Brynjolf pulled back and lifted the shirt over her head in one deft movement. She sat before him wearing only her undergarments and her greaves. Nodding, she blinked a few times.

"I think I see what you mean," she whispered as Brynjolf wrapped her arm, pulling the cloth up over her opposite shoulder, just below her neck.

"And, now you're done," he said. "You actually did lose a decent amount of blood." Brynjolf didn't remove his hands from her hips, and stared into her eyes as he spoke. "Shall I walk you home?"

"No," she said quietly. "I'd like to stay here. I have anything of importance from my room at the Barb."

Brynjolf nodded. Before she could jump down from the bar, he scooped Freja into his arms and carried her back towards the Cistern, where the beds were. Her head ached and swam. Bryn was right—she had lost more blood than she realized. Freja could tell it wasn't too serious, but she would need some rest.

Walking through the Cistern, Freja waited to be set down on one of the cots, but Brynjolf kept going, and eventually pushed through a heavy, wooden door.

"Where are you taking me?" Freja demanded, a smile playing on her lips.

"We've already shared a bed once, lass. Why not again?" Brynjolf said in a mischievous tone. Freja shook her head, her stomach filling immediately with butterflies.

"Brynjolf…we both need rest, and I—" Before she could finish, he slowly set her down. The room was decorated with maps, paintings, rugs and bookshelves. It was probably one of the most pleasant rooms in the Ratway—at least Freja assumed this, since most of the Ratway was dank, wet and smelly. She wondered how many women had seen this room. Brynjolf had mentioned his romantic history before, and it sounded extensive. But then again, why did Freja care about that? Only today, she'd told herself that their flirtation could continue as long as it didn't affect their work.

"Come, lass," Brynjolf said as he slid his armor off and his shirt over his head. He sat on the edge of the crimson-blanketed bed. "I have only the noblest intentions."

Freja laughed shortly, but then hesitation filled her stomach. She tried to remind herself of all the emotions she'd felt for Brynjolf in the past weeks and months…but there was still a knot in her chest.

"Freja…" Brynjolf's voice was suddenly quite serious, and he stared at the floor in front of him as he sat on the bed.

"Hm?" She asked softly. Freja approached the bed and sat down slowly next to him. She held her hands in her lap, staring at them. Nothing in the world could shake her…nothing but this.

"Surely you must know, lass… I care for you." He uttered slowly. Freja remained silent. "In this Guild, one can't help building bonds. I trust you with my life, but…it's more than that. After all our time together… You must feel it too."

Freja shifted on the bed, turning to face him. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know," she said with a small smile. "I do." Leaning forward, she pressed her lips carefully to his.

"Good, lass." Brynjolf said after a moment, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. "Let's get some shut-eye now, hm?"

* * *

><p>The next morning, Freja woke up alone and feeling well-rested, for more than one reason. For one, she and Brynjolf had pulled off the Goldenglow deal without as much as a single hiccup. Secondly, well… She and Brynjolf had finally been honest with one another about their feelings. And it was something she welcomed. She'd never met someone like him.<p>

Rising, she quickly threw back on her underclothes, greaves, boots and shirt, and wandered into the cistern to look for Brynjolf. Her hair was a mess of long, blonde waves down her back, but she didn't care. Feeling invigorated, she was ready to go back to Mercer and figure out their next task. She and Brynjolf had grown to become quite the team, working together.

Walking into the Ragged Flagon area, she sat at the bar, hoping to get some warm mead and bread for breakfast while she waited for Brynjolf. He was never far away. Vekel slammed the food and drink on the bar, smiling at her.

"Heard about Goldenglow this morning," he said, his dark eyes shining. "Sounds like things went…swimmingly." Freja shot him a smile, something she wasn't used to giving out freely. "Looks like the Guild's luck is looking up, thanks to you and Bryn, of course. Heard Mercer wants to see you already, has something else to discuss."

"Thanks, Vekel," Freja replied.

"In fact? I'll go see if Mercer's busy now. You're gonna want to hear what he has to say." As he left for the Cistern, she ate her breakfast, wondering what Mercer had in store next for her and Bryn. She'd finally found her place, it seemed. And she was beginning to earn respect for it.

Suddenly, the door leading from the Cistern to the Flagon slammed open, with Dirge following behind Tonilia. They were bickering quietly, trying to keep their voices down. Freja didn't look up, pretending to be fascinated with a stale piece of bread, but she could still hear bits and pieces of the conversation as they walked by her.

"…you shouldn't cheat on Vekel. He's a good guy," Dirge said, his low voice sounding gravelly. Tonilia scoffed at him.

"What are you talking about?"

Freja's ears perked up. "Come on, everyone knows about you and Brynjolf," Dirge said in a low, gravelly tone. Freja stopped breathing for a moment. _What?_

"Well, everyone's wrong. Now why don't you just shut up about it? I'm going to the training room to work on armor, and if you follow me, Nine help you, I'll gouge your eyes out."

With that, Tonilia stormed off from where she came, leaving Dirge mumbling angrily to himself. Suddenly, Freja didn't feel hungry anymore. She was curious, and although she wouldn't admit it to herself, a little angry. Could this be true? Thinking of Brynjolf, someone she considered a dear friend, a colleague, and perhaps a lover… Did it make sense that he would act this way? He always seemed so genuine. Getting up silently, she walked to the Cistern after Tonilia. _I'll just discreetly ask her what's going on, woman to woman. No one knows about Bryn and me yet._ She pretended that it wasn't important to her...but something in her chest told her otherwise. And she had to know if this was true. She didn't like being made a fool of.

Walking into the Cistern, Freja slowly made her way to the training room, a room she hadn't taken proper advantage of. Pushing on the heavy wooden door, she leaned her head inside.

Freja's eyes widened as she saw Tonilia and Brynjolf together. "Dirge just asked me about us," Tonilia purred, walking towards Brynjolf across the room as he slowly backed away from her.

"What 'us?'" Bryn questioned.

"Oh, please, Brynjolf, don't act so coy with me. This isn't our first time." Tonilia threw her arms around Brynjolf's neck, and Freja cleared her throat loudly, not wanting to see another moment. At the sound, Tonilia jumped away from Bryn, and a look of horror emerged on his face.

For some reason, all she could do was smile. "Pardon me," she said icily. _He and I were only together a night. I was such a fool to think I was different from all the other women he's bedded…shame on me. He probably uses those lines on everyone._

"Freja, wait, stop—" Brynjolf said urgently, but Freja had already slammed the door behind her and headed for the ladder exit that would lead her up to the false tomb. She had to get some air. Knocking her shoulder into Vekel on accident, she didn't even mumble an apology as he called after her.

"Mercer's not here, he's at his estate! See him there," he said, a little agitated at their collision. Freja didn't bother answering. She felt too stupid; she just needed to get out.

Freja had barely made it up the ladder to the false tomb when Brynjolf popped out behind her, just as she was about to pull the chain and open the door to the world above.

"Freja, wait, please stop!" He said pleadingly. Freja chuckled at the sound of his desperation.

"Brynjolf, please, don't embarrass yourself," she said in a cold, whispery tone. "What you do on your time is your own business. I would suggest not pursuing more than one woman in the Ratway at a time to avoid awkward situations, but you never did claim to be smart. That's your prerogative."

Brynjolf ran his fingers frantically through his knotty, shoulder-length red hair. She sounded as she had when they first met—cold, distant and condescending. All the walls he'd seemed to break through these last months had been built back up in a matter of seconds? Not so fast. "I think you at least owe me the courtesy of letting me explain before you make assumptions about my character and my feelings towards you, lass. Whatever you think you saw, you've got it wrong."

Freja remained calm, pushing her blonde hair from her face carefully, but her chest felt tight. Brynjolf's green eyes were shining with worry. "There's no need to explain. I heard Tonilia and Dirge talking about your relationship, and she said it herself that you'd done it before. It's not like you haven't had many women in your past," she said, her voice quivering slightly. Freja cleared her throat, hoping he hadn't heard the shaking of her voice—it would reveal how upset she was…how much she thought the night before had meant.

A look of understanding dawned on Brynjolf's face. She thought she was just one of many, and Tonilia's little stunt didn't help her see things differently. "Tonilia has always had a thing for me, and today she tried to pull something on me…"

"So you're saying you don't have a past with her?"

"She and I do have a past, but that was before _you, _lass—"

Freja put her hands up, becoming agitated. "Just stop, Bryn. You might say something you can't take back." A silence stretched between them, before she began again. "We're just fellow thieves. We've had our fun. Let's not discuss it anymore."

He shook his head in confusion and frustration. The two of them just being 'thieves' was certainly not the case. "You don't really mean that…do you honestly think last night was some fluke?" He asked quickly. "That I was using you, because of the way I've handled my previous conquests?" Brynjolf chuckled anxiously for a few moments, igniting the anger in Freja's heart. She already felt stupid, and he would not make her feel even worse. "If you think that, then you don't know me as well as you should. I care about you, Freja."

Freja shook her head, only hearing half of what he said. "You know what? I have an appointment with Mercer, I don't have time for this." He began to open his mouth, offering to accompany her, but she held her hand up to him again.

"I will be going alone. Don't follow."


End file.
